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Lucifer Reborn 1

Dante King

Copyright © 2021 by Dante King

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.


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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

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Immortal Swordslinger

Bone Lord

About the Author

Chapter 1

“Turn right onto Morningstar Lane,” the GPS on my phone informed me. The digital female voice was barely audible over the sound of the clanking engine. “Then, you will arrive at your destination in point-five miles…”

I flipped the app closed with a sigh and switched over to the radio, pausing at the stop sign. My old rustbucket van steered like a bathtub at the best of times, and these weren’t the best of times. A puff of jet-black exhaust erupted from the tailpipe as the vehicle stuttered to a halt, the engine reeling. My vehicle was way overdue for some repairs. And an inspection. And registration…

“Shit,” I said, looking out the window. A peaceful street full of single-family homes greeted me. There were even streetlights. The contrast between the clean-cut, upper middle class neighborhood and my shabby repair van couldn’t have been clearer. I should take the sign off the side, I thought, glancing in the side-view mirror. Around here, it’s less likely to be taken as advertising than some kind of warning.

Normally I’d never have been out driving around this late. The computer repair business was generally a 9-to-5 kind of job: most of my clients worked in offices and start-ups, which meant they needed help with their IT stuff during business hours. But I was willing to do special work outside those hours, for an additional fee.

Seeing as most of my clients had dropped off the map recently, I wasn’t particularly choosy. The pile of bills at my computer repair shop only grew deeper every day—some of them stamped with friendly looking reminders like Final Notice! and Last Warning Before Action is Taken!

The headlights dimmed alarmingly as I turned the corner. For a moment I thought the battery had died—but a judicious application of my foot to the gas brought the high beams blazing back to life. Finding my way around this place had been difficult—all the streets and houses looked the same. Big, three-story McMansions with wraparound porches and impeccably manicured lawns. Not my kind of place, in other words.

“Alright,” I growled, flipping through my phone as I drove down the darkened street. “Which one was the client’s address? 665...666...Ah! 667 Morningstar Road. Perfect.”

The client hadn’t been terribly specific about the nature of their emergency—only that it was crippling, and needed to be dealt with fast. I could get with that. This definitely seemed like the kind of place where ‘work-from-home’ was the norm. Whoever this dude was, he probably worried about his money even more than I did.

I flipped through the dial as I counted houses. Since 667 was an odd number, that meant it would be on the right side of the street—a trick I’d learned from years of teenage pizza delivery. The ground sloped upward, the homes growing even more stately as I entered the nicest section of the neighborhood.

As I crested the top of the hill, two people appeared in my headlights. I turned the wheel, startled, as two girls in hoodies and leggings hopped back onto the sidewalk, laughing. Wisps of jet black hair peeked out from their hoods, framing faces that were coldly beautiful.

“What the fuck?” I grunted, my heart pounding. They’d almost gotten hit!

I turned and leaned out of the window, intending to yell at them. In the dim light cast by the streetlights, something swayed between the both of them as they skipped down the hill. They each had one hand on it, swinging it like a fancy purse or a bag of groceries. Only it was neither.

They had a squirrel. A dead squirrel.

I stared a moment too long, and the van descended the other side of the hill. The two girls disappeared from view, leaving me unsure as to whether I’d just seen that clearly or not. Surely they couldn’t have been playing with a dead animal like it was a toy, right?

You’re seeing shit, Luke, I told myself. Stress does that to a guy. And you’ve got plenty of it.

I felt for the radio. Only to hit the AM button instead of the FM.

“You must be wary of him at all times, brothers and sisters!” A nasally voiced preacher trilled to his congregation. “He will try to tempt you with riches, with pleasures of the

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